


North Light Comes

by sapphire2309



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Vague spoilers for s3 and s4, mild spoilers for 5x04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 16:25:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6159577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphire2309/pseuds/sapphire2309
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal shows up at the Burkes' doorstep, shivering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	North Light Comes

**Author's Note:**

> Set post anklet, ignoring S6. Written for Challenge 14 in the current Writerverse phase. Title is a lyric from Overcome by Better Than Ezra.  
> This is basically proof of life. Posting from phone, I apologise for any mistakes in advance. Will tag + xpost + edit this on Monday, because phone.  
> This is a (very short) sequel to [When All Else In You Turns And Runs](http://sapphire2309.livejournal.com/32602.html), in which Neal has essential tremor, restricted to his right hand during this fic and the previous one. I'm fairly sure that that fic is in my masterpost, for anyone who wants to read it before this.  
> This is not the first time I've written a drunk/dazed Neal on the Burkes' doorstep. I think he's adorable when he's a little loopy and craving affection. Recurring theme, will try not to repeat, etc.  
> Can you tell that it's late and I'm a little loopy myself?  
>  **Disclaimer:** White Collar is Jeff Eastin's brainchild. Not mine.  
> 

Neal shivered as he paced across the length of the Burkes' doorstep. It wasn't long, he had to turn every two steps or so, but he was thinking, and people paced when they were thinking.

He hadn't reached a hand out to ring the doorbell yet. His hand was warmer inside his pocket. Besides, ringing the doorbell would mean facing the questions of the people on the other side. The Burkes.

He could talk to them, right? Peter hated it when he was left out of the loop, Neal knew that well. Especially when it came to big things like Nazi loot and evidence boxes and that one coffee stain on that one painfully boring mortgage fraud case file that he'd hoped to reprint and replace quietly, complete with Peter's signature, preferably without Peter finding out. (Peter found out.)

Peter would want to know.

Before he could change his mind, he yanked his hand out of his warm pocket and flung it in the direction if the doorbell. Then cringed. _Too fast._ They'd think it was a neighbour alerting them to a fire. Or a storm. Or a lost puppy. And they'd rush to the door, which meant they'd be here that much faster. Which didn't help his cause, because he was a little nervous about meeting them, if he was being honest.

"Sorry," Neal said sombrely as soon as the door opened. "I wasn't going to. Ring the doorbell, I mean. Well, I wasn't going to ring it that hard either, but if I hadn't, I may not have rung it at all, because- hey, Peter! Good to see you." He gave Peter a quick hug.

Peter blinked blearily. "You're going to have to talk more slowly than that, because it's five a.m. and I'm half asleep."

"That late? Really?"

"That late. Really. You want to tell me why you're trekking across boroughs in only a shirt and pants in the dead of night?"

"I should, shouldn't I?" Neal chewed on his lip. "Can I... come in?"

Peter sighed and opened the door wider so Neal could step through. Neal darted indoors and made for the sofa with the soft cotton blanket laying in the corner. Then frowned. "Do you have any knowledge of the whereabouts of a certain blue pillow?"

"Not at this hour of night." Peter shut the door with a click. "Okay. Spill. What did you do?"

"Nothing illegal."

"I'm sure."

"No, really. I'm forging- _replicating_ a stolen Manet for the Bureau. Organised Crime is trying to take down a group of organised criminals, and they need an offering to get through."

"That's what Ruiz wanted you for."

"Uh-huh."

"So where's the problem?"

"I can't paint."

And suddenly, Peter was wide awake. _Neal's hand_. His gut twisted, the now-familiar terror that Neal would try to run again banishing the last of the sleep from his eyes.

Neal shrugged. "Not as well as I used to, anyway. Unless I've had three and a quarter glasses of wine. So I _had_ three and a quarter glasses of wine. But then my hand started shaking again anyway. And then I couldn't paint. Even though I finished the bottle. Or because I finished the bottle. And then I needed advice. And you give good advice, right? So here I am." Neal stood right there with that yellow blanket draped over his shoulders, looking at Peter expectantly.

"Oh."

Neal nodded, his wide eyes fixed on Peter.

"Why don't you..." it was early, there wasn't much he could occupy Neal with, even Satchmo was fast asleep, "...sit down. I'll be right back. I promise."

"You promise," Neal repeated happily, sinking onto the sofa with closed eyes and a satisfied smile.

Peter took the stairs two at a time.

-:-

"El? Honey?" Peter knelt at her side of the bed and gently brushed hair out of her face.

"Hmm?" She turned her face towards his hand.

"I need help."

"With what?"

"Neal."

El cracked open one eye to look at him pointedly, then turned back to her pillow. "You don't need help with Neal. You're the resident expert, I'm just..." she yawned absently, "...tired."

_"Please."_

El turned further into the pillow.

"I need you, Hon."

El grumbled into the pillow for a moment, then sat up and looked her husband right in the eye. "Tell me."

Peter told her everything, starting with, "Neal's downstairs," and ending with, "And he's drunk and terrifying me a little and it's a simple problem but I'm scared to say anything because-"

"You think he'll run if you get it wrong."

Peter nodded.

"Oh, honey." She brushed a strand of hair out of his forehead. "He won't."

"How are you so sure?"

"He's talking to you. He's letting you in. And he's being honest. Which means you're getting something right."

Peter nodded once, uncertainty still furrowing his eyebrows.

"You still want me to talk to him."

"Yes."

"Peter, you have a responsibility to Neal. I can't take your place."

"I'm not his handler anymore."

"You're still the person who brought him into the Bureau and made him feel like he could belong."

Peter just looked at her. "It has to be you. Please."

She shook her head. "One day, Peter Burke, you will be confident."

"I'm confident."

She just smiled.

-:-

"Neal? Hey, it's El."

Neal opened his eyes with some effort and looked at her, confused. "Peter promised-"

"I'm right here, buddy."

Neal smiled. Or he tried to. Except that El glanced over Neal's shoulder for a moment, probably at Peter, with a look so pointed it made his head hurt. Wait. That was unfair. Hangovers started in the morning. Not while he was still drunk.

"Neal?"

"Mmhmm." He focused on her.

"You don't need to paint for the Bureau if you're not up to it, okay?"

"But the Manet-"

"Doesn't matter."

"But they _need_ it."

"They'll find someone else."

"They will?"

"Yep. You need to tell them that you can't do it for them, first thing on Monday morning. Not Peter, not Diana. You."

He'd thought of that, in that dreamy way in which he thinks about that old villa on the Cote d'Azure sometimes. Not as often as he used to, but sometimes. When he was lonely. Both things felt about equally impossible to him right then. But El spoke with such conviction that he almost believed it himself.

"What if they ask why?"

"Tell them why."

Neal's eyes widened. "But I'm _scared_."

"Of telling the truth?"

Neal nodded.

"Oh, sweetie. You always have been. Do you believe me when I say it'll work out okay in the end?"

"I believe _you_."

"Good. Remember that, okay?"

"I'll try. I think I'll forget, though."

"That's not a problem. I'll say it again."

"Okay. Thank you."

"It's no problem. Do you want to sleep in the guest room?"

"I'm all right here. Your couch is exceedingly comfortable."

"If you change your mind, the room's upstairs."

"Okay."

"Good night, Neal."

"Night."


End file.
